So today I made a field trip to Hoboken to go to the Beauty Parlour for a haircut and glaze (I like the word "glaze" because it makes me think of donuts, and I really like donuts) and to see The Gay Blades play at Maxwell's with Readymade Breakup, Hero Pattern, and some soft rock band (their words, dude). This blog was originally going to be about that, but then I drove home.
Through my first ever DWI checkpoint.
Having never consumed a drop of alcohol in my life, I wasn't expecting any problems, but they came, and they came in bulk. My first issue was with simply pulling up to the stop area. The cop's foot was on the line, so I stopped short of it, which, through some masochistic tendency that I don't care to dwell on, the officer disliked.
Then he proceeded to ask me what in the world I was doing in Hoboken. I told him, "I went to see the bands playing at Maxwell's."
He asked if they were any good.
"Three out of four were wonderful. One out of four was mediocre at best."
He kept scowling with skepticism, and at this point, I didn't know what to do. So I asked him plaintively and politely, "Sir, is there anything further I have to do here?" I thought since he wasn't letting me pass, he was going to ask me to walk in a straight line. This terrified me, because my billboard-sized birthin' hips don't allow that to happen, alcohol or no; in addition, my inch worm of an attention span would probably prohibit me from reciting the alphabet backwards without long pauses to look at shiny things.
The officer then handed me a drunk driving pamphlet and told me to read it and be on my way. I told him I wouldn't read it til I got home so I could keep my [lash-batting] eyes on the road. He glared at me. I rolled off.
The moral of the story is, don't drink and drive so I won't have to go through shit like this. I don't have the patience to argue with the poh-leese at 2 AM.
*By Jess, who was instructed to blog about the show by the newly bearded Jason Kundrath, but wound up getting offtopic